Across the miles
by Lavenderpaw
Summary: A Christmas story for the ages... and the miles. Hogarth must cope with his friend the Giant being gone while still dealing with issues that proceeded after he left and come to learn and accept things the way they are with the help of his family and those who will come to be his new friends in months to come.
1. Chapter 1

**I.**

"What do you think, Dean?" Annie Hughes looked over prospectively at her art suitor of two months. The man had said in the beginning that the word "lover" was just too junkie-sounding for his taste. He lowered his paper and glanced over at Hogarth, the-recently-turned ten-year-old usually stayed engrossed in his sketchbooks and homework pages.

"Kid." Dean accousted him.

The child looked up from fingering a gold-glittered red ball, glanced over at his mom and then looked down again. Dean tried again but Hogarth didn't respond. With a rough sigh, the thirty-one-year-old beatnik rose from his seat and went over to sit facing away from mother and son. The radio station was tuned in to Christmas music; he lit up a cigarette.

Normally disapproving, Hogarth's mother sent her son a look and nodded for him to act.

He looked from her to Dean, and realizing this was more than just his mother trying to get him to accept a new fatherfigure for once, stood up and approached him. "Dean," he said softly. "I'm sorry." A puff of smoke flew out of the man's lips. His eyes stayed right on the radio. "I know you and Mom have been trying really hard on these holidays for me but-,"

"But nothin'," The man stood abruptly, met Annie's stubborn but still saddened eyes and then looked down at Hogarth, "This isn't gonna work, kid. I've tried and _tried _to be the father you've needed for so long, but every damn time..." he sighed, ground the bud in a red candle and left. Hogarth frowned at his display and shook his head at Dean's words.

"He's got a lot on his plate, huh Mom?"

But when Hogarth looked he saw his mother was in tears.

"Mom," he approached her.

"I just wanted things to go right for once, Hogarth. You know I've brought men in before. But, Dean..." She gestured at him having paused on the stairs. Only his grey trouser pants were showing and they instantly disappeared at his mention. "I thought I'd finally gotten it right." The woman smiled through her tears. She walked over from the bright tree, knelt to her son's level and took him in her arms. "I thought I'd found the right man, Hogarth."

He closed his eyes and placed his arms around his mother.

...

Dean lounged in the bedroom across from Hogarth's room, a quiet stream of Dixieland Jazz from his childhood floated from the radio he held next to his side. He fiddled a sliver of a toothpick around in his teeth and stared at the ceiling, wishing desperately he could cocoon it with paper and tobacco. The band he had grown up around in New Orleans had never been adverse to a good smoke now and again; Dean closed his eyes at this.

He started scatting a little, his dangling toothpick bouncing, pretending he was a singer.

"Dean?" A hand circle around and knocked on the inside of his door.

"What? Go away." He said groggily, he kept his eyes closed and still tried singing.

"Mom wants to talk to you." Hogarth peeked slightly into the room.

An eye opened and peered over at him. "_You_ want to talk to me."

"You're always there for me. Why can't I be here for you?"

"Times change." Dean said flippantly, closing his eyes again. The intent and rather hurtful uncharacteristic behaviour made Hogarth's mouth drop open. "Good way to catch flies."

"I thought you were my friend." Hogarth muttered.

"I'll always be your friend." The man turned to face away from him. "That's all I can do."

"When in doubt, well endowed remember?"

Dean happened a slight glance over at him. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"You're more then just my mom's boyfriend." He waited, no response. Jazz still played.

Hogarth's brows lowered. "Your music's for faggots anyway."

Somehow it never bothered Dean when Hogarth got testy with him. At Halloween, he had let the boy cry in his room on his bed, bemoaning how he would never have the chance to go trick or treating with his best friend, on Thanksgiving Dean had held Hogarth's mother in his arms. And then, in the middle of the night, had held a pajama-clad Hogarth. He had rocked him to sleep and tucked him in bed. Now, two weeks later, he stood and turned.

"What?" Dean said. He was without expression.

"Faggot." Hogarth repeated bluntly.

This time, instead of ignoring his ribbing or joking his sarcasm off, the two stared long and hard at one another. Something in Dean wasn't good-natured or even lenient. This evening, Dean was not going to tolerate his young friend's cries for attention. He moved stiffly around the bed, Hogarth grinned at this and took off running. The boy fled down the stairs. He took two and even three at a time as he heard Dean coming after him. He was almost to the door when he realized what he had said. _Faggot. _Hogarth felt sorry.

"Dean, I-,"

The man grabbed his arm and jerked him around. Hogarth reeled back in fear. The fury that had resolved in Dean's brown eyes took heed of the child's state and he lessened his grip on Hogarth, his face then relaxed and he closed his eyes as he breathed. He released him. There was nothing but a jacket and keys in his other hand. When he opened his eyes again they were sad and shimmered just a little. Dean opened the door and began to leave.

"I'm sorry, kid. I'm truly sorry this didn't work out." He peered over his shoulder at him.

"Dean," Hogarth couldn't even whimper his name out, "You promised." Tears surfaced.

"I know, kid." He placed his hand on his head. "I'll come visit sometime, but now isn't it."

"Why?" Hogarth croaked out.

"It has nothing to do with you, Hogarth. Your mother and I need a break, that's all."

The man walked across the porch and down the stairs.

"Where will you go?"

"Where do you think?" He flung his jacket over one shoulder. Dean tossed his keys a bit.

"You should be with us, we're your family."

His friend stopped at that and turned.

"You don't know anything about my family, Hogarth." He slowly shook his head. "Us fag music lovers got to stay together." Dean saw Hogarth tremble. "You said it, not me." The man flatlined his lips and shook his head again. "You'll catch your death out here kiddo."

Hogarth ignored his choice of words. "I think you need us just like we need you."

Dean turned on his heel and with his eyes closed again asked the boy, "And why would you say that?" his opened them and stared out into the dark, dismal forest. He shivered.

"Because you were there when I needed you... the," Hogarth's words caught, "the most."

To be continued...

~ Lavenderpaw ~


	2. Chapter 2

**I.**

_~ Up on the hill across the blue lake,  
That's where I had my first heart break  
I still remember how it all changed  
My father said  
Don't you worry, don't you worry child  
See heaven's got a plan for you ~_

_~ Swedish House Mafia ~_

A felt-tipped marker successfully crossed three lines through the Rockwell population sign. The **'421'** number was marked in equally thick black and replaced with a big 420. Hogarth, clinging to the metal post with one hand and triple-knotted shoelaces, stuck his tongue out and rubbed the capped end up and down his cheek as he contemplated his work. He quickly added **'422' **and, with three "expert" flicks of his wrist, successfully crossed that out too and wrote **'420'** in under it. Hogarth managed to underscore it three times before wiggling his way to the ground.

Once safely earthbound, the boy spread his red and white converse shoes apart and looked with some apprehension up at the sign. He could get into trouble. He might have done a crudy job. No, Hogarth saw, it clearly looked as it should. Two people were gone. Well, one was gone and the other was leaving. He loosened his strings and shuffled back a little, feeling that his work was done Hogarth unscrewed the cap from the back of the marker, then at the last moment he had another idea and reached up to underscore the marked out **'422'**. Hogarth then reached to undo his shoelaces altogether when they caught and he fell to his back. The cap he had pulled off fell onto his nose and circled about. He plucked it off and stood up. A final look up showed him the results he wanted. Hogarth gave a little curt, self-righteous nod and turned around with his nose in the air to walk over to a broken fence post where he had all his belongings in a hunter green pull string. His laces still dragged loose as he took his seat.

Hogarth pulled out a spiral notebook and flipped through his sketches. He made a face at the brown crayon puppy he had drawn at age six and tore it out. Hogarth then spied a picture he had drawn of him and his family that was at least two years old and he tore that out too. The sight of a new old picture suddenly angered him and Hogarth started ripping his old drawings out one-by-one. He only stopped when he got to two curious eyes staring up at him. Hogarth moved his eyebrows together. He flipped open the next page to reveal a rock, tree and deer.

A small drop wet the unfinished buck's face and Hogarth sniffed hard, rubbing along his eyes and small nose. He quickly put down the notebook beside his knapsack and pulled out the only possible source of comfort he knew would help: a twinkie. Hogarth gave a big sniff, rubbed the back of his hand across his now red nose, and opened the wrapper up. Ripping off a bite and glancing down at his notebook, an idea came to him. He munched sourly and picked it up. The stubborn nine-year-old flipped to a fresh page and picked up his mighty marker. Hogarth ripped the cap off with his teeth, spit it to the side and drew up a mean-faced, marker-lined man. Three circles of expanding size also featured in Hogarth's parody piece. He then found a nail and rock.

"Kent," Hogarth muttered as he pounded the piece of paper into another white fence post.

The boy sat back, tore off another bite of twinkie and took out an old cigar box. Hogarth pulled a red spaceship dart which held six and made an aiming motion at the man's face. "Booked just like a gangster," he said to himself. He threw the dart hard and it landed square in the center. Of course, it wasn't enough.. Hogarth took the large, round stone and pounded the tip in very hard.

Still unsatisfied, Hogarth tossed the rock at Kent's face and panted hard. His small chest started hurting and he clutched at his racing, empty heart. Looking back up his eyes gave the faintest of shimmers as the air picked up with a chilly breeze; Hogarth barely shivered. Snow from the day before had melted off as rain from the previous night had washed away the remains. A rumbling of thunder in the distance made Hogarth look up expectantly. Lumpy gray clouds were lingering in the far distance and formed a slight white line between themselves and the ocean. He sighed.

Just as he readied himself to move on Hogarth spotted a little tan dog sniffing at his sack with hungry eyes. The boy only grew further saddened and sat back down with his knees drawn in. He closed his eyes and hung his head. The dog whined. Hogarth sent him a look of resentment.

"No," he said. "Can't you see I don't have any food to give you? I already gave food and for _wha_-?" his words caught on a breathy inhale. Hogarth huffed out a breath and buried his face in his hands. He gave another shaky breath into his palms. The boy brought them down, gave a sniff and started to stand up. "I don't have anything for you, boy, I'm sorry." It whined again.

Hogarth looked back miserably at the creature and sighed quietly. He took what was left of his twinkie and held it out to the skinny mutt. The canine trotted up to him cautiously before giving it a sniff, meeting his eyes once and then gobbling it up whole; in it's haste the dog nearly took the wrapper along with it's snack. Hogarth actually managed a smile and started to stroke it's head.

Unheeding of the boy's earlier hidrance, the dog reached up to lick his face. Only a minute ago Hogarth would have shoved him back but he allowed his new friend to clean his lips. This did little to assauge his deeper issues and so he guitily pulled back, giving the dog one final stroke.

"Sorry boy, but I gotta get goin'." He stood up, swung his pack over one shoulder and left.

Just as Hogarth was barely out of the Rockwell townlimits, a loud blare made him jump. He jerked his head around just in time to see a logging truck coming right at him. This scene made an instant connection to one three days earlier. A train coming... a truck coming. The scrawny dog's loud barking cut through his reverie and, fearing being flattened or found out, he ducked for the wet grass below. Hogarth rolled shoulder first under one of the chipped wooden fence's final white planks and landed with a safe, soft thud at the base. Panting, he got up on his hands and knees. The truck did not pause but only continued to rumble off into the distance. Hogarth thought he might have seen a flash of blue out in the distance as he scurried back up to the road.

He stood up and watched the tiny shadow of truck disappear down the gravel lane entirely.

The boy grinned a little, his bag still flung over one shoulder, and turned on the gray rocks.

"Bye boy," he waved at the dog behind him and started to leave again.

"Followed your trail," Dean was perched on his motorcycle, leaning sideways. Hogarth felt like he'd been flattened. "Next time," the leather-and-jean wearing man held up a clear paper to a twinkie Hogarth had munched on while walking out here; this was one four he had eaten as he had skipped meals the previous day. "Be sure to cover up your tracks a bit more thoroughly."

To be continued...

~ Lavenderpaw ~


	3. Chapter 3

**I.**

Hogarth only stared at him, surprise quickly turning to accusation.

"What'd you want?" he demanded meekly. There wasn't much fight left in the boy anymore.

"To take you home." Dean eased one leg off of the bike and propped the kickstand down. He walked up a few feet to his friend and slipped his sunglasses onto his head. "Home to Mom." It didn't seem so much a stand off as a test of wills. "And you're coming home, Hogarth. I tried the nice guy act and let you cry on your mother's shoulder, but as we both can see that didn't cut it."

Hogarth lowered his eyes and glared at a rocketship dart lying on the ground.

"Time to go home kid." Dean was nearing him to grab him up, speaking gently yet no-nonsense.

"You're right, Dean, it is time to go."

"Ah, kid," The adult reacted, immediately wise to him. "Don't do this!"

Hogarth managed to race out from under his would-be captor's grasp and bolt for the woods.

"I'm not trying to downplay the incident, Hogarth!" Dean called after him. He was almost yelling, he was almost sounding aggrieved. "I know what he meant to you, kid! I'm sorry! I'm sorry he's gone..." Dean's voice seemed to catch on a huff of staggered breath. Hogarth's own was erratic.

He ran. Hogarth ran from the road, he ran from the presence waiting to take him back to the last place he wanted to be at... Hogarth felt himself ebbing, he finally stopped behind a large cottonwood and dove for cover. The roots rising up from the ground and encircling the boy almost seemed a comfort to him. Hogarth started to recall a similiar tree he had laid near...

He then quickly shook his head to dislodge the memory and allowed a proud, almost sly smile to cross his face. "Dean doesn't know the woods like I do!" he fell against the hard bark. The urge to pull out a comic book was nearly replaced by one of dread. "Maybe I'm sorta old for comics anyways." Hogarth dug into his bag and pulled out his sketchpad. He flipped to a page.

This was a blank one. A scruffy-looking face suddenly appeared under his arm. "Scruffy! What are you _doing _here?" Hogarth started to scratch his ear. "Shh. You're gonna get me found out."

He showed the dog the page. "You wanna star in your own comic book?" His offer was pitying.

The dog washed his cheek and gave a little yappy bark.

"SHHH!"

"Maybe you could do that as a hobby when we get back," someone said.

Hogarth jerked his eyes up to take in Dean's. The man was leaning his shoulder against the tree.

"How-? How did you-?"

"My uncle used to take me on hikes through the Maine woods, Rockwell for one, I hated it."

"I thought you weren't from here." Hogarth unconsciously moved his shoulders back.

"Hogarth." Dean didn't let his mission be deflected. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. It served nothing to placate Hogarth as he looked down; but he didn't run away. "Don't you think I feel terrible about what happened? I _never_ wanted the G-, I never wanted this to happen. I'm not sure your mom completely understands this either, kid. But, we're going to be here for you."

"None of the other Rockwell citizens are," Hogarth glared up at him. His eyes were hot. "They don't care, Dean. They were saved and they don't even care! I'm sure they're not sad like me."

Dean didn't acknowledge to the contrary, but he didn't say whether he agreed with him either.

"And the stupid army." Hogarth was starting to choke up. "They _cheered_. Those heartless... those heartless people!" The boy sobbed once but stopped. He looked up. "They're evil, Dean. How could they _cheer_ over someone...? How could they?" Tears somehow couldn't come out.

"I know, kid." He looked away and actually sniffed. "All that riled me too. But I don't think-,"

"-They_ meant _it." His small friend finished for him, circling around and trying to persuade Dean to come at him. The man only stood there looking sadly after him, looking as though he was just starting to grasp the depth of Hogarth's feelings of betrayal and was starting to pity him. "Sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

Hogarth considered something and looked up at him, turning slightly. "No following." he said.

Dean's lips thinned and his forehead puckered; now he was the one fighting emotion.

"I wish you wouldn't say that, kid." His composure wavered.

His young friend stood there only a moment before rushing off.

This time, the man did not follow.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**I.**

Dean watched Hogarth run now. It was just like yesterday when he had reeled Hogarth in from having an emotional break down; he had been useless, ineffective... Dean lowered his head, a flicker of hurt entered his heart. He had been useless helping either one of his friends, absolutely useless! The man wanted to punch himself in the face when a vein-lined hand found his shoulder.

General Rogard met Dean's eyes seriously as members of his remaining brigade clustered about.

"We gave him a chance, sir." One of the unarmed men said. They were all young and clothed in lighter camoflague as opposed to yesterday. "The boy could be going anywhere, we need to fan out and..." His words were lost as his leader soberly observed Dean's dilemma and considered.

"He'll come home when he's ready." The casually clothed man turned to him. "I can't force him."

"Nonsense! He's a child. We need to have search parties and-,"

His commanding officer's look silenced him.

"We'll give him until the end of the day," Rogard decided. "Stay posted across Rockwell and have the police units on standby. Tell all the townspeople and any search parties to go about their everyday lives, but to keep a low profile if Hogarth is spotted. Tell them to be alert too."

The soilders did as they were told but Dean only continued to stare blankly into the forest.

"And McCoppin."

"Dean."

"Dean." Rogard considered his words again. "I am so, so sorry." The apology was hushed.

However, even it's sincerity was not enough to cause reaction from the silent beatnik.

...

Hogarth started toward the river - from then on, the road was definitely out. Rockwell's colorful trees had started to disperse deeper into the forest, now they were similiar to the ones found by the lake. Soft, mossy grass came under foot as Hogarth stretched himself over a row of bushes and found himself staring at the calm water evenly spaced between pine trees and cottonwoods.

Every so often a big red or gold maple would break up the montony of the bustling forestry, but Hogarth barely paid mind to the beauty surrounding him. Finally he came to where the thin river opened up and a medium-sized creek picked up the flow and sent the water skirting over rocks.

A small glass bottle on Hogarth's right trapped on the stony shore perked his curiosity. The boy walked over to it and picked it up. Suddenly, a small smile of ingenuity crossed his face and he took off the knapsack he was carrying. Hogarth flipped to the two pages in his pad that meant the most to him, took a clean sheet and then took out a marker; always praised him for his cursive writing. Hogarth grinned at the word cursive and included it in his short letter:

_It is Oct. 8th of 1957, I have lost someone special yesterday and my name is Hogarth. He never had a name... but Mrs. Tensedge likes my cursing. I'll always miss him. Bye forever._

Hogarth then slipped the robot picture with the deer, rock and tree picture in with the note he had written, rolled them together and, capping the marker, got the idea to twist the marker into the bottle so that the capped part was sticking out and there was something to keep the papers from getting wet. Hogarth took a deep breath, closed his eyes and chucked the bottle high into the air. One last grin formed on his face as he watched the river carry his little treasures away.

...

Clouds from the ocean started to form around the funnel of creek. Hogarth gathered his wits about him and flung the knapsack over his shoulder as he continued on. Another low roll of thunder like from earlier caused him to glance up in concern; he would have to take shelter soon and he was at least a good quarter of a mile outside town. Eventually a small hedge of brown gravel with cement walls stretching above the now sternly moving river caught his eye.

He shivered a little as the air only grew colder and saw his breath mist out from his lips.

Hogarth was nearly ready to take cover under it when a pale gray truck rolled by overhead.

"Hey, you!" A boy stuck his head out. It was William Peterson from across the hall. Hogarth pulled out a baseball cap and fit it snugly over his head before tying his bag back up. "Come on up kid. We gotta see if you're the Hughes boy." Someone grunted and pulled him back inside.

"You there," Felix Peterson, Rockwell's local banker, popped his head out and motioned.

Hogarth, knowing if he ran he was a goner, started up around the grassy incline and then over around the concrete walling to face father and son. The man had black hair while his son's was straight and blond - their were rumors Billy had been adopted - and the two looked at the boy in front of them with wide-eyed or determining eyes. Billy's only widened as he squinted more.

"Pop, that's him!" He tattled shamelessly. "That's the Hughes boy! Hogurt or something.."

This startled the younger boy into action and he turned to leave.

"Now, hold on there." Mr. Peterson caught his arm.

"Let me go!" Hogarth complained.

"Hold on now," The man started to open his door.

"Please," Hogarth looked back at him, pleading. "Just let me go. I'll go home, I'll go with the police or the army or whoever, just let _go_!" He yanked his arm back as soon as it was freed.

"You're makin' a mistake, ma boy." Felix draped one arm outside the door. "Runnin' away."

"You wouldn't understand." He cried.

"Let us," Billy offered quietly. The boy was leaning over his father with a willing look to listen.

"See," His father agreed. "We don't mean ya no harm. Now look, you gonna get inside or-?"

Hogarth took off running.

"Hogurt!"

"Hogarth." His son corrected.

"Oh. Hogarth!" Felix and his son rushed after Hogarth.

As they chased after him the nine-year-old ran as fast as he could. Lightening crackled across the gray sky, rain fell and pelted his face. The sounds of shouting and footsteps only made him run faster. The cold rain now seemed to turn to sleet. Mr. Peterson gargled out an angry noise.

When Hogarth turned he saw that Billy had stopped to check out Hogarth's bottle moving along rather violently with the faster flow of the river. He almost took this as his opportunity to escape when Billy suddenly slipped on the wet grass and fell face first into the raging, sleet laden water.

"Bill-LY!" Mr. Peterson screamed.

Hogarth watched as his classmate was swept away by the rising river.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

**I.**

The sleet fell hard and persistent.

Hogarth was in a semi-crouch as he watched Billy get swept away, he just happened to glance over his shoulder and see the jacket-wearing man was frozen in place only five feet from where his son had slipped and fallen in. Hogarth immediately reacted and raced by Mr. Peterson, the man looked down at his hand and saw that his keys were gone. He whirled with a loud "Hey!".

This didn't stop Hogarth, however, the boy wasn't thinking about common sense or if he could get hurt or not. He thumbed the small button under the long, silver handle, threw the truck door open and hopped inside. From all sides he saw army men, police men and a rather bristling but confused Felix Peterson doing a long-legged, intimidating stride from the creek towards him so that he could finish off the confining circle, now all the adults were doing it. This walk was made to look like they weren't going to hurt you but also so they could get you when you had calmed down enough; it was what a dog catcher did. Hogarth wrinkled his nose and jammed the silver ring of keys into the ignition. It didn't start, the adults approached. Hogarth grimaced and tried again. It still didn't start. Finally, he got the right one, shifted into drive and blared his horn loud.

Everyone dispersed to the sides except for Felix who glared at Hogarth. Hogarth glared back, reached up to fasten his seat belt and touched the gas pedal with his big toe. He managed to get the truck to swerve around on the little bridge and then out onto the gravel road - like his father had taught him and his mother sometimes let him do in their front yard - and plunged the nearly pallid truck across the creek. Felix barely dove out of the way as Hogarth bounced all around the cab and only stopped from hitting his head by letting his shoulders take the hits. He drove the truck, stretching, peering, adjusting the gas pedal off and on with his big toe, after William.

The sleet was only getting heavier as the trees blew with the surprising force of the freak storm.

As Hogarth bounced about he peered through the mixture of snow and rain to see Billy being carried away with the rapid flow. He sped ahead, bouncing about and thankfully not hitting any passing person or object, at least two miles before stopping. Hogarth yanked the jacket he saw lying in the passenger's seat and got ready to put it on when he realized that it was _his _jacket he had left on his front porch this morning - It was his father's. Hogarth turned the ignition off now.

He stared down at his hands griping the wheel with pained realization; he was alone. He was so completely, utterly alone. Hogarth put his jacket on and slipped out of the vechile. A gnarled but sturdy-looking tree trunk stood out against the white glow of the violent storm. Hogarth froze in his tracks and knew that he was by himself. 'Gi-,' He couldn't bring himself to think his name. A loud gurgle of a cry made him perk up; Billy was coming and coming fast. Hogarth was stricken as he looked between the tree and his would-be rescuer. He didn't know if he could do it again.

"I couldn't save him." Hogarth admitted in a half-whimper, shivering in the cold and wet. He was wearing his father's fur-lined coat, he remembered. Hogarth went back for his knapsack, untied the string and found his only other possession; his father's fighter pilot helmet. Hogarth lowered his eyebrows. "But he saved me." In that moment, "he" could have been his father or even just...

Hogarth ran into action before his mind could think the name he dare not let impede his focus.

His movements were clumsy but fast as he scrambled across the wind-whipping tree trunk and undid his belt. The boy didn't think twice as he swung himself under the tree, locked both of legs and his left arm around it and then offered the long, black belt down to Billy; it was his best belt.

He came with the rising water. Hogarth anticpated a quick but strong jerk on the other end but, somehow, didn't receive one. He waited. Billy's head bobbed up from under the water in front of Hogarth as the tide carried him away. "Billy!" Hogarth was mortified. His classmate, the boy right across the hall from him, was going to die. "Giant!" He called out then. No one showed up.

Hogarth was struck with fear and confusion as he clung to the tree. "GIANT, HELP HIM!"

The sleet only intensified.

Men's shouts and the wail of sirens to his far right caused him to cling harder to the shaking trunk. Doors slammed, flashlights bounced up and down. Trucks, several fire engines, police cruisers, a few army jeeps even, Hogarth thought he spotted, appeared through the icy sheet of shadow and ivory. The black forms rushed toward Hogarth while other vechiles plowed through the downpour.

"We'll get the Hughes boy, you take care of the Petersons."

Someone, a younger man it sounded, came up behind Hogarth and wrapped a blanket around him.

The storm was letting up. Hogarth, flushed and trembling, peered up through narrowed eyes to see a frothy sheet of medium gray was all that was left as the last few icy drops pelted his face. Whoever the man was, he tucked the blanket around Hogarth and picked him up to place him on his shoulder.

"There, there kid." He soothed. The man was nicer than Dean but more of a pussy and a faggot. He was a nice but pussy faggot, Hogarth thought. "I know what you're goin' through," he gave the boy a few pats on his back as he carried him. Hogarth sniffed and nestled into the unfamiliar but reassuring shoulder. "You have to understand, your robot friend did what he thought was good for the town of Rockwell, Hugo. Now you have to be brave just like him." Hogarth rebuked at the innocent words.

They were nice words. " 'Your robot friend.' " "You have to be brave just like him.' " Like him...

Hogarth pushed abruptly into the man's shoulder. "Oof!" he didn't wait to see if he was being chased or if his "rescuer" would recover. Hogarth ran through the woods, found a small path to manuver and ran straight back for Rockwell with his heavy coat and helmet moving up and down. He hadn't been able to... Hogarth shook his head to dislodge the thoughts. He passed the creek, he passed where he thought Rockwell's townlimits might be, Hogarth passed tree after tree until finally he found a break in the forestry and, with only his oversized coat and hat as his sole belongings, came out into an opening.

To be continued..


	6. Chapter 6

**I.**

Hogarth knew where he was... at least he knew the location of his person at that particular point in time. Inside, however, he might as well have been drifting through a dream cloud. A completely repaired substation, washed shiny and clean by the brazon sleet, stood imposingly in front of Hogarth. He blinked, and clenched his fingers as he stared. There was no BB gun in his hands. Hogarth felt his helmet and and tugged on the rough cotton lapels of his jacket. What was missing besides the gun... He began scouting around the area for some sign of familiarity. It looked like the utility workers had done an impressive job, along with the tracks. Soon, Hogarth started to realize, all traces of the Giant would be gone. Everything would be fixed or replaced.

A sob caught in his throat at that thought. He turned and gasped.

It was a new power conduit.

This perfect, untouched metal lay sideways. Hogarth glanced up and saw that an older model had been placed in temporarily. A thought crossed his mind and he brightened a little, maybe they were taking time off because of the Giant's leaving. Then he remembered what everyone in town was really doing. Glumly, Hogarth bypassed the large substation tower and swung his leg over a barely embedded root. The boy pressed his back to the trunk and slumped down. He breathed a little unevenly at the thought of looking at that conduit again. It was pure metal.

Hogarth thumbed at his watery eyes and sighed a gurgled sigh.

Some light appearing over a break in the trees made him peer up. The conduit was nothing more then a silhouette against the sunshine spilling in through the dispersing clouds and big dip of treeline. Hogarth rubbed at his eyes and stood up, he wandered around the gigantic obstruction without giving it a single glance and moved semi-objectively towards the light.

He navigated through the trampled and broken trees for at least one minute before coming to the start of the beach. Hogarth looked down and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Footprints. Huge, amazingly undiscovered tracks leading from the ocean to this very locaion made Hogarth freeze. Proof that his friend was once here stood quite literally in the place a giant had once stood. A quick side-to-side glance showed that a sectional of trees had been cleared for a path that seemed almost like what a gopher or mole would make underground.

Turning his attention to the first set of tracks, Hogarth approached the one on the left. It was deep and plausibly shaped like a giant robot foot. The same feeling of mysticism Hogarth had gotten three nights ago returned. He followed the line of tracks from where they ended at the start of the forest leading to the power plant and then on to where they began at the shoreline.

Though it was slow going, Hogarth finally stopped mid-way. He braved a glance up to see that the sun would be setting soon, it lingered behind the clouds causing a pink glow to soothe their gray fortitude, and slid into the soft grains. They were moist but felt welcoming and familiar in a strange way. Hogarth slipped his jacket and helmet off. Setting them to the side, he did what he had done the previous night in the Giant's indention inside his barn; he covered himself up in the golden earth and lay with his cheek resting on wet granules. Tears began trickling from his eyes.

He could have stayed there forever but the cold ground was making him uncomfortable. Sighing sadly, Hogarth unearthed himself and, brushing off the sand particles, rose to his feet and made his way up and out of the ground. His feet lifelessly carried him around so that he circled two or three sets of tracks before finally he lurched towards the sharp, gray rocks of the shoreline. As he came to the base an eagerness suddenly emcompassed Hogarth. He almost grinned when he thought of what might await him at the top. The sharp points were rough on his hands but he got to the top quickly and without much effort. Hogarth paused only for a moment and then looked.

The sea was beautiful to his dry, sticky eyes. A fresh waft of brine hit his face and filled his itchy lungs through his nose and mouth. Hogarth breathed peacefully and watched as seagulls drifted along the irregular but smooth aircurrents. It was quiet except for their calls and of course noises made from the pull of the tide - which occasionally broke near the bottom of the sharp rocks - it was nice. It was calming. But... expected. Even as the pink dissolved into the clouds and set half of the sky on fire, he couldn't help but be reminded of the previous day's events. Memories, life, reality, they were the greatest enemies. Hogarth started to breath fast as he started to remember everything. He tried in vain to reel them back but this location with all it's reminders stayed. Try as he might, Hogarth could not banish the proof behind him nor the continuation in front of him.

Life was carrying on, he realized in that moment. Whether he wanted it to or not.

This enraged Hogarth.

"GIANT!" He screamed at the top of his parched lungs. Nothing but caws answered him.

He grew desperate and kept calling for his friend. The vermillion blaze began to fade out as he continued calling well into the fall of twilight. Hogarth gasped, panted and then tried again. There was no replies this time, only the crash of the surf below. He started sobbing, missing his friend terribly and aching inside. The memories of the Giant smothered him and even his own flesh and blood's death felt like an empty hollow in his heart. Fresh pain stabbed at an open wound which Hogarth had been unaware of in his chest. He gripped at it in confusion. Hogarth lifted his long-sleeved shirt up and examined his pectorals. No mark existed. He grew further incensed by this.

"GIANT!" Hogarth cried over and over again until even twilight ended.

He dropped to his knees, screaming until his voice grew weaker and weaker.

The boy didn't stop and refused to accept that things were really futile when he heard someone approach him from behind. "They're gone, Hogarth." Dean's voice was harsh against his gaping heart. "The army had to go back. The town is resting for tonight and all search parties have been dispersed... you got what you wanted." The idea that he was privileged didn't alleviate Hogarth.

"Go die," he muttered.

Dean squatted to his level.

"Why are you still here?" Hogarth glanced at him. He wanted an honest answer. "You don't owe me anything. I owe you _everything._" Dean didn't react to this, he just listened calmly. "Why are you even still here, Dean? You didn't care about him. He was living off your livelihood, literally eating you out of house and home." Hogarth almost smiled as he said this. Dean smiled as well.

They looked down in mutual thought.

The older of the two looked up. "I... I know I'll never compare to him, kid." he said quietly. "I know he-, I know he meant a lot to you, as I've said before. But, but I'm still here." Dean took Hogarth's elbow which was only a foot away. "I'm still your friend. That is, if you still want me to be." The boy finally looked up at him willingly. "Your friendship means a lot to me, kid, and I know we've only known each other a few days but it seems like it's been a few years at least."

Hogarth's gaze wandered to his feet. "You've been a good friend, Dean." he admitted.

"So you'll come home?"

"Not yet."

Dean waited.

"Maybe not ever."

The man didn't seem to know what to say to this. "If I was any other adult..."

"I know."

Without anymore to be said, the junkman rose to his feet and walked away.

Hogarth didn't move from where he sat.

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

**I.**

Hogarth was shivering. He wasn't sure how long Dean had been gone, he only knew that it was dark and that the lighthouse beacon had suddenly flashed on. The boy grasped his arms as the trembles came and he realized as his body quaked that his helmet and jacket were missing. He couldn't bring himself to move and go find them. Somehow his teeth chattering, the cold, stark wind on his face and the clear, starry night were just what he needed; Hogarth was awakening.

"Here, son." A man placed a heavy jean jacket with corduroy lapels around his shoulders.

"Mr. Langley?" The words misted out of his lips like the air itself did. It was indeed very cold out. Hogarth hung his head and huddled under the material that weighed him down; in an odd way he liked the heaviness. Peter Valentine Langley hauled Hogarth up into his arms without a single comment. He carried the boy up a spiral of metal stairs, his big boots rattled them loudly.

They even sounded violent. Hogarth was content as he closed his eyes and smiled: _Big, heavy, loud, metal... _Metal. That thought alone was enough to cause a grin to spread across his face.

"What you smilin' about?"

The critical voice caused instant disappointment.

"Where am I?" Hogarth's eyes opened and he stared up at a white ceiling blankly.

"Lighthouse," Pete told him. He pulled a dripping wet cloth out of a basin, wrung it in his big hands and slapped it across Hogarth's face. Drops flew everyone. The lighthouse attendant adjusted something in the center of the circular room and then went to gently wipe Hogarth's slathered skin. "You caused quite a scene, young man." he mentioned. "Did you know that?"

His face tingled warm. Hogarth didn't answer.

"Answer me when I talk to you, son."

"Yes sir," he said automatically. He was beyond emotion. "I'm sure I did."

"You sure did," There was no humor in his words. He kept his eyes down on the water.

Hogarth didn't move. He didn't even breathe.

"Inhale, exhale." Pete's young charge complied. "You sure weren't nice to that ol' beatnik friend of yours, a real nice guy from the looks of it." Hogarth breathed louder. "There we go," At first Hogarth thought it was in reference to his breakthrough but then he heard the whistle of a kettle.

"You got coffee?" He felt awful as he muttered it.

"You got tea," A thick, warm mug was placed in his hands. The despondent boy's eyes widened and he gazed down at the heated green beverage; he pleaded for somewhere to put it. "Y'know son," Pete took the blue ceramic by his fingertips and placed it on a round wooden folding table. "It aint right what you done." Hogarth thought he meant Dean. "The way you run off. Lotta good people, honest people and low down and dirty people alike been lookin' high and low for ya. At the good Lord's will, you ended up in my keep, crossin' those miles just like our 'ol robot done."

"I'm sorry."

Pete filled his own cup to the brim, he never took his eyes off his work. "Gonna man the post."

Hogarth laid back against the surprisingly comfortable lumpy bed. While Mr. Langley continued doing his work in quietness, occasionally humming a gentle tune, Hogarth let the thick bumpiness of the pillow settle around his head. He turned his face towards the moon and stars, gazed for a bit at the wobbly silver streak made by the huge circle, and finally fell asleep with an eye on him.

...

After some delicious scrambled eggs and bacon - and some last minute advice on taking better care of his late father's missing gear - Hogarth was nearing the railroad tracks that would lead him to home. His mind was free and clear even as he took the same route he and the Giant had days earlier, was nearing the place where the tracks would be reconstructed and was heading in the direction of the very place he had fled yesterday. And yet, he still couldn't feel anything. The will to flee was gone... but so was the will to do anything. He was just at the divide in the trees when he heard a voice calling out for him. Hogarth froze, his hardened heart began throbbing.

"Hogarth!" Annie Hughes shouted.

The boy escaped up a tree and watched as his mother passed. She went deeper into the forest. Her calls weren't as choked and panicked as Hogarth's had been but her tone couldn't conceal the pain in her voice. Somehow her cries fell like soft thuds against Hogarth's eardrums, hurting only his now pained hearing. Every voice; nagging, crying, condemning, deafened him. Once he thought it was safe, Hogarth climbed down the tree and started for his sun-splashed residence.

To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

**I.**

There was no one in his house. The atmosphere was peaceful, as it always was. But Hogarth also noticed something and this something was much more distinct than he had ever noticed in in the last seven and a half months. It was even more so then the first night when he had been left alone. The house, forever a comfort and a confinement, was empty. Hogarth suddenly felt very small as he started noticing things in his home he'd never paid heed to. The shadows which once seemed so mysterious and inviting arching out down the staircase now seemed creepy and ominous. The photographs above his head were dark and faceless, even the wallpaper with it's strange symbols made Hogarth walk backwards just so he could really get a good look at them.

This was the same house he had always lived in, but it wasn't.

Hogarth sighed when his hand touched the familiar banister. The shadows seemed to pass as the sun started to rise higher. He turned listless eyes to the living room and saw that it was the same as it always had been. The normalcy was nice but the emptiness, the fact that Hogarth couldn't go to the junkyard to see both their residents, the fact that he couldn't run from a federal agent and had to go back to his normal life, only reminded Hogarth of his depression. He shuddered at the thought of never seeing cars tossed, tracks ripped apart or substations wrecked again. It was in that moment Hogarth would have loved for his house to be destroyed. He wanted planes shot at with glowing red eyes, he wanted tanks shooting, he wanted chaos and noise. He would have even settled for getting crushed by a giant foot. Giant, that was the one thing he longed for.

Smiling miserably as the wonderful yet awful memories poured in, Hogarth climbed the stairs.

He dragged himself lifelessly down the hall and then headed instinctually for his bedroom. His foot was in the doorway when Hogarth glanced over his shoulder and saw a small, wrinkled area on an otherwise perfect green cover. It was forest green, Hogarth saw. He walked the short distance from his doorway and stopped in the middle of the hall. The bed was so neat.

The ends were tucked in with a perfect hospital fold, though why his mother did this when she clearly didn't work in a hospital always confused Hogarth. Everything was crisp and clean just like the living room. There weren't as many personal touches, but everything was the picure of normalcy. Everything was homey from the nicely fluffed pillow to the doily under the harmless little lamp. Hogarth became slightly bothered and went to untuck the ends of the bed. He took a step back to marvel at his work. The covers were in a straight line at the top. Perhaps they needed to be a little less straight. Hogarth pulled them back. There, they were ready for use.

Kent would be pleased, after all, he wanted to get close to Hogarth.

"That's right." The boy said to himself, still in a haze. "He's in jail."

'So much for Kent.' He started to pull them back up. "Maybe Dean..." Hogarth rethought.

No, Dean was gone too. He didn't want to be friends with a selfish runaway anymore.

Maybe William Peterson. "No, he probably didn't survive the drowning." Hogarth was as still as a statue. Maybe his new friend Peter Langley. Maybe that guy who had called him Hugo, or the squirrel from the diner. Maybe the Giant... he couldn't fit in a bed. He couldn't fit inside a house.

He couldn't come back.

Hogarth was on his knees, staring at the all-too perfect pillow.

The Giant would never come back.

Tears leaked from his eyes as his body crumpled. How long had he been denying this? When had he thought about it? Last night when he had yelled himself hoarse, when the Giant had left him there stranded in a sea of spectators? Dean had been the one to pull him back, his mother had been the one to comfort him. His mother? His mother, so accepting and loving, she would have let Hogarth keep the Giant after all. Kent wanted to take Hogarth away from his mother.

He had wanted to kill the Giant:

He had succeeded.

Hogarth flew into a rage and took the pillow in his hands. Like an animal, he unleashed a loud screech and tore the fabric in two. He ripped, shredded and shrieked as feathers flew about as though a bird had exploded. Hogarth was not done, however, he whacked the lamp off of the tiny dresser beside the bed, yanked out all the drawers from the dresser and threw them over his head. In his rage, Hogarth became the very thing his mother had protested, he was the very thing Kent Mansley had warned Hogarth about and what Dean had argued in vain. He was the very thing the Giant could have become: a monster. Hogarth was a raging, senseless monster.

Somewhere between trying to lift the top mattress off the box spring and failing, the boy had finally collasped to the middle of the bed weeping and sobbing as hard as he could. His name was spoken and even though he couldn't tell who it was he could tell who's arms were around him. They were as soothing as the words being spoken to him were understanding. He sighed.

"Hogarth," His mother said in his ear. The boy had his face against his mother's shoulder. "I love you. I know..." he kept sobbing and weeping. "I know. I know how it feels." she gently rubbed his back as he rested his cheek on her shirt. "I felt the same way when I lost your father... take time to grieve, but, honey, you eventually have to move on." Hogarth shuddered at the thought and almost started crying again. Annie touched his hair. "I know how strong you are, I know it's going to take a long time." she pulled back with a smile and tears in her eyes as well. There was nothing there for the loss of the Giant, it was all for Hogarth. "Honey, I'm so glad you decided to come home." her sincerity halted him from feeling betrayed by her lack of concern. "I love you."

Hogarth realized his mother's presence and love was still the most invaluable thing he could wish for and so he went back into her arms, "I love you too." he said. There was a pause for thought.

"Hogarth?" Annie asked.

"You don't miss the Giant as much, do you?"

She thought for only a moment. "No, dear. I only miss you."

Hogarth rested his face in his mother's shoulder again, listening to her words. "I only miss him."

"I know," Annie upheld his words, holding her son close.

She rocked him back and forth and stroked his hair; her understanding became his acceptance.

To be continued...


	9. Chapter 9

**I.**

"Hey, kid."

Hogarth looked up from his place perched on the railing of the porch.

"Billy?"

His father had parked a little behind the trees right before the railroad tracks, he watched them.

"Hey, kid." The boy repeated. He wore a blanket, a blue cap and thick gray sweats. "Can I sit with ya?" Hogarth dangled his legs down facing the sunset and waved him over without looking.

"Sure," he replied lifelessly.

Billy climbed up on the railing and smiled at Hogarth; who smiled back automatically.

"You got some guts, kid." His classmate told him frankly. "No one else in our class, not even the High School kids, woulda done what you did. I wanted to thank you for having the right stuff... you hadn'a jumped in my pop's truck..." he sniffed hard. "Thank you, Hogarth, I really mean it."

"You're welcome," Hogarth met his eyes briefly and then glanced back out at the setting sun.

"You're friend would've been real proud of you." When Hogarth met Billy's eyes he felt like the boy was connecting with him. "I won't ever forget'im Hogarth, you won't have to worry. I won't forget him just like you won't." he smiled. Hogarth nodded. "Hey, wanna come over sometime?"

"No," the nine-year-old told him. "I don't think so. Thanks for the offer."

"Still stands." Billy told him, slipping off the railing."If you ever change your mind."

"I know." Hogarth mumbed. "I won't."

He looked westward.

...

Dean stood staring back at Hogarth as the child completed his retelling. There was a signifcant change to the look in his friend's eyes, they were softer, sadder. He had finally remembered the reason why he was at this house and why he meant so much to this family; because it meant so much to him. This _was_ his family. Dean dropped his jacket and keys and raced over to the boy.

Hogarth grinned and ran into his arms to embrace him.

"_See,_" He said with his cheek on the corded sweater. "You _do _belong here," Dean pulled him back with a smile, "As part of our family..." he had to look down a moment, "I'm sorry Dean."

"Hey." The man smacked his cheek lightly. "You're all right, kid. Let's get back inside, 'kay?"

"Um..." Hogarth trailed behnd him. "Aren't you suppose to say you're sorry too?"

"Sure," Dean grinned back at him. "If I had something to be sorry for."

Hogarth smiled, getting his real meaning.

The man's smile turned warm. It was the first non-teasing one he had ever given.

"Hey, Hogarth." A familiar voice took them both by surprise. William Peterson was dressed in a lumpy blue parka and headed their way. "You got a minute? I've got somethin' for ya here." he raised a wrapped gift. Hogarth turned to look at Dean who in turn ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Don't be too long, kid." He started in and then paused. "Hogarth." he called more seriously.

The boy turned.

"Don't be too long," Dean said again. He smiled and then climbed up the stairs.

"You two married or what?" Billy asked uncertainly.

"Naw, he's just a good friend-," Hogarth paused. "Hey!" he elbowed his arm. "What'cha got?"

"Well," Billy pulled back red wrapping paper with green garland designed around it. "It's your sketch pad." Hogarth's mouth turned into an 'O' shape. "One of the guys helpin' search for you and then rescuing me found it." He placed the dry, wrinkled binder in his hands. "You gotta be more careful, Hughes." his tone was joking, he grinned a little, "My pop held on to it till... well, till Christmas. He thought it'd be real nice to give you some time for... uh, reflection. Somethin' like that. He said it meant to think real hard about somethin'. Anywho, I'll see ya after break."

Hogarth concentrated on the pad in his hands. He flipped the cover open and leafed through the pages until he found the Giant's. A warm, teary-eyed smile crossed his face as he admired one of the last things from three months earlier. Hogarth hugged it close to his chest and looked up.

"Billy."

He caught his attention.

"Uh, you still got one more for touch football on Friday?"

Billy smiled and Hogarth knew it was because his eyes were shining with tears; Hogarth didn't care. Somehow, Billy didn't seem to care either. "Friday at five. Don't bring your mother or um, your mom's friend." his smile spread into a grin across his face. "No pussies or faggots, got it?"

Hogarth didn't even backhand his eyes then. "Got it."

The other boy seemed to understand and left his new friend in good spirits.

"No pussies or fags." He whispered.

"Hogarth," His mother called. "Time to eat."

"Guess that means his friends will have to sit out the game, then."

The End.


End file.
